


Home Is the Hunter

by the_random_writer



Series: Separated Twins [12]
Category: Bourne (Movies), RED (Movies), The Bourne Supremacy (2004)
Genre: Brothers, Cats, Crack, Crossover, Developing Relationship, Gen, Pets, Plans For The Future, Twins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 18:00:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11765343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_random_writer/pseuds/the_random_writer
Summary: A crossover where William Cooper from 'RED' and Kirill from 'The Bourne Supremacy' are identical twins.Born in Berlin to an American mother and a Russian father, the twins were separated at the age of ten by their parents' divorce. William went to the United States with their mother, while Kirill went to the Soviet Union with their father.Kirill has a secret admirer. He likes the look of her, and wants to get to know her better, but what will his girlfriend think?Takes place in early March 2011.





	Home Is the Hunter

Her streetcraft was good, he would give her that. The first time she followed him home, he didn't realize he had a tail until he was almost back at his place. He finally noticed her only as he reached for the door, but even then, he didn't manage a proper look. There was a flicker of movement off to his right; by the time he'd turned to see who it was she'd vanished back into the night.

The next day, he saw her again. She picked him up as he sauntered across the neighbourhood park, following at a reasonable pace, pretending to completely ignore him while keeping him firmly in her sights. She very rapidly proved to be an extremely talented tail, maybe one of the best he'd ever seen. But there was one thing she hadn't considered—however good she was at her craft, she wasn't quite as cunning as him.

He didn't see her the following night, or the night after that, which made him wonder if she'd been pulled from the streets, or had found a more interesting target for her talents.

When he saw her again on the Friday night as he made his way home from his favourite bar, lurking behind the crumbling wall that marked the boundary of the off-leash lawn, he was so delighted, he actually laughed. The hunter was back, and for probably the first time in his life, he was more than happy to be the prey.

Over the next couple of weeks, he came to know her extremely well. He learned that not only was she good on the ground, she was also beautiful to behold—petite and lithe with piercing green eyes and medium-length, glossy black hair.

Day after day, he took her on a merry chase, and day after day, regardless of his route or the weather, she stayed tenaciously on his tail.

*************************

Eventually, he told his brother about his new 'friend'. To his surprise, William wanted to see his pursuer for himself.

"She and I are playing a game," Kirill explained to his twin as they ambled across the patchy grass, giving his watcher time to notice them and fall in behind. "She pretends she is not following me, and I pretend I am not being followed. It will be interesting to see who surrenders first."

"Is she here yet?" William asked, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder lest he give their intentions away.

Kirill nodded. "She is thirty metres or so behind us, over by the wall on the left. She is very good, so if you try to look at her and are too obvious about it, she will simply pull back and move away."

"I perfected my counter-surveillance techniques on the streets around the Kremlin and the Lubyanka," William advised in a voice almost dripping with scorn. "I think I can handle something as simple as _this_."

As Kirill watched, his brother kneeled down, pretending to refasten his lace. William used the devious moment to turn his chin into his shoulder and surreptitiously sneak a peek.

"You see her?" Kirill asked, keeping his voice low and calm. "She is pretending to sniff some daffodils, but she must think we were born in a barn."

"Born _yesterday_ ," William corrected. He grinned as he pushed up from the ground. "Born in a barn means you never shut a door behind you. Born yesterday means you're gullible or easily fooled."

Kirill shrugged. "I think for this talented and lovely, young lady, both expressions would apply."

William wasn't at all impressed. "No offense, Kir, but this is totally idiotic."

"What have I done that is idiotic?" Kirill protested. "Yes, I have allowed her to follow me home on several occasions, sometimes all the way to my door, but I know she is there, and I have always kept a safe distance between us, so that is as far as our interactions have gone."

"You shouldn't have encouraged her, and you shouldn't have allowed her nonsense to go on for so long. If it was me, I'd have put down a warning shot after her second attempt."

Kirill gave his twin a disgusted look. "That is a little harsh, don't you think?"

"Maybe," William said with a shrug. "But it would send her a message, loud and clear." His expression darkened. "Seriously, Kir. This is the last thing you need in your life right now, with everything else you have going on."

"I will be the judge of that."

"Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. If you tangle with her, and she leaves you bleeding and full of holes, don't come crying about it to me."

Kirill shook his head. "It will not come to that. I will bring this business to an end in a manner that does not involve screaming or pain."

"That worries me even more."

"What do you mean?"

In a softer tone, William said, "I just have this horrible feeling that if you try to persuade her to play nice, she's gonna end up working her way into your life. Or even worse, into your bed."

"It wouldn't be the first time that has happened," Kirill calmly pointed out, thinking back on his Moscow years. "And you are a fine one to talk, after what you did in Belize."

"That was different."

"How?"

"Because I called Michelle the morning after and told her exactly what I had done, made sure she knew all about it before I came home instead of springing it on her as a surprise. Kate's _way_ more open-minded than Mike, and the two of you haven't been dating for long, so you're not exactly at the wedding bells and babies stage, but that doesn't mean she'll be willing to share. If she comes over to your apartment one night, and Mata Hari over there's lounging seductively on your Ikea recliner, she's probably gonna lose her shit."

Kirill sighed. "There is that, yes."

He hadn't considered his girlfriend's opinion. This monogamous boyfriend business was an awful lot harder than it looked.

Their mission for the evening concluded, William turned to head out of the park. "It's getting cold, and I need to eat. Leave your shadow to her devices, let's go order those burgers and beers."

*************************

Three days later, Kirill took his brother's advice. He was still enjoying the devious game, but it was time to bring it to an end.

 He would have to confront her, face her down, tell her he knew exactly what she was doing, order her to make herself scarce and to never darken his doorstep again. But given how good she was on the ground, always knowing when to stay on the hunt or when to retreat and slither away, that was easier said than done.

To corner her, he had to pull a rather creative trick. He took his usual path through the park, but instead of exiting via the gate, he jumped over the crumbling wall, sprinted around the edge of a building and circled back up behind her, catching her totally unawares.

He skipped the social introductions. "This has to stop," he curtly announced, looking her straight in the eye. "I don't know what you want from me, but whatever it is, I am absolutely _not_ willing or able to give it."

She said nothing, but simply blinked.

"I mean it," he warned. "You need to find somebody else to hunt. If you follow me home again, the consequences will be extremely severe."

She made as if to move towards him, her expression guarded but also brave, then froze as he took a step away.

He frowned and held up a warning finger. "No," he said, as firmly and bluntly as he could.

She blinked again, but didn't move.

"So, we understand each other?" he asked. "You are going to turn around, walk away and never bother me again?"

She opened her mouth to let out a tiny, delicate, kittenish wail.

Kirill's battle-hardened innards instantly turned to goo. _Bozhe moi_. How could something so small and so fierce make such an adorable sound? And how could he even consider chasing such a beautiful creature away? What kind of heartless monster was he?

She wailed again, even more daintily than before.

Whatever resistance he might still have had crumbled like the nearby wall. He hunkered down, wincing as his knee complained, and held out his right hand, inviting her over to say hello.

She didn't need to be asked twice. She scampered towards him, meowing again, and rubbed her tiny, fuzzy head all over and around his hand.

He stroked her along her tiny back, frowning as he felt ribs and bones. She was young and in reasonably good condition, but very obviously a stray.

He wondered if her colouring had made it harder for her to find a home. She was a living, breathing, walking wraith—black fur, black nose, even black whiskers and claws. Suspicious people would avoid her, but he had personally never seen a more striking animal in his life. To him, she was absolutely perfect, in every possible way.

He rolled back to sit on the ground in a cross-legged position. She held back for a moment, not quite sure of how to react, then surged forward and all but leaped into his lap.

"When I lived in Moscow, I sometimes cared for my neighbour's cat," he told her as he stroked her head. She started to purr, sounding like a tiny tractor, then knead him with her razor-sharp claws. He winced as she punctured his legs, but made no attempt to pull her away. "She was a lovely cat, but nowhere _near_ as lovely as you."

She blinked and meowed at him again.

"I have some chicken in the fridge, left over from yesterday's dinner. Perhaps you would like to finish it? You are beautiful, but you are also too thin. You need some proper meat on your bones." Then he remembered it was cajun-spiced chicken—probably not the safest food to put in an adolescent feline's stomach, unless he wanted to spend the rest of the night cleaning up a stinky mess. "How about some plain, unseasoned chicken, then? Or maybe a slice of Black Forest ham? Would you like to try that instead? And perhaps a saucer of milk as well?"

Still purring, she curled herself into a tiny ball and settled down in the crook of his legs, a look of bliss on her delicate face.

"I will take that as a yes."

He blew out a sigh. So much for telling her to never darken his doorstep again.

"Shall we go home?" he asked his new friend. She squeaked as he scooped her up with his hands, but relaxed as he held her into his neck. Slowly and gently, he pushed himself back onto his feet. "Don't worry, _kotyonok_ ," he murmured, slipping her under the edge of his coat to shield her from the chill in the wind. "We are only going a couple of blocks."

Not that he really needed to tell her. After all the hunting and tracking she'd done, she knew _exactly_ where her journey would end.

*************************

From the kitchen, he heard a key go into the door. He placed the litter tray down on the floor and glanced at the microwave clock. The new arrival could only be Kate, wrapping up her last shift at the clinic for the week.

"Hey, babe, it's just me," she called out to put him at ease. He heard a series of thuds and clunks as she locked and bolted the door behind her. "Man, am I glad that week is done," she added.

He met her in the windowless hall, leaning in to give her a kiss.

She gave him a warm smile in return. "Hey, nice to see you, too. How was your day?"

Time to own up to the truth.

"It was good, but before you go any further, you should know that I did something today that you may not like," Kirill revealed. "You don't live here, but you are my girlfriend, so I should probably have asked you before I did it. I will apologize for my error now."

Catherine groaned. "Jesus, Kira, please tell me you didn't resign from your job?"

"Of course not."

"Did you kill someone? Or at least, someone you shouldn't have killed?"

"No."

She frowned and jammed her hands on her hips. "Did you bring another woman home? You made a joke about that redhead at the bar last week, but the way you said it made me wonder if it wasn't a joke."

"No, I did not bring another woman home." He flashed her a bashful grin. "At least, not in the traditional sense."

Before she could ask him another question, he beckoned her into the other room. He stepped aside and gestured at the leather recliner, showing her that it now contained a freshly-fed, freshly-brushed, tiny, regal, green-eyed pet.

Catherine sucked in her breath. "You got a cat," she whispered.

"I did. Is that bad?"

"What would ever be bad about getting a _cat_?"

She pushed past him, slowly approaching the Queen on her throne.

"William thought you would be annoyed," Kirill explained, glad that for once, his older sibling had gotten it wrong.

Catherine wrinkled her nose. "That's just because he's a dog person. He doesn't understand how anyone could ever want a cat instead." She knelt on the rug in front of the chair, then held out a hand for the curious feline to sniff. "Hey, baby girl, how you doing?" she murmured. "Can I come say hello?" Very slowly, she reached out to scratch behind an ear. "You like that, don't you?" She turned back to Kirill. "You fed her yet?"

"After I brought her home, I went to the pet store at the end of the road and bought all the supplies I will need, including some litter and bags of food."

"And she ate what you gave her?"

"Let us just say she is not a cat so much as a vacuum cleaner with fur."

"So she's not gonna be a picky eater."

"Noisy, yes. Picky, no."

"You given her a name yet?"

"Not yet, no. I _had_ thought about calling her Chernobog."

"Chernobog?" Catherine repeated, wrinkling her nose again. "The hell kind of name for a cat is _that_?"

"It is the name of an ancient Slavic deity. It means 'black god'. I thought it would be quite appropriate, given that she is completely black."

His other half wasn't convinced. "What was this old Slavic deity the deity of?"

"That depends on who you ask. Most historians think he was some kind of god of darkness."

"So, kinda the Slavic version of Satan?"

He shook his head. "That is too simple a comparison. It is much more complicated than that."

"But a bad guy."

"I suppose so, yes."

She speared him with an indignant glare. "Kira, you can't name a tiny, female cat after an ancient Slavic god of darkness."

"Why on Earth not?"

"You just can't." She turned to the new arrival again. "We need to give you a softer, more feminine name, don't we, honey?" she said, stroking the feline under the chin. "Something that matches your personality as well as your looks. Something delicate and regal."

Kirill huffed. "Very well, but I want her to have a good, Slavic name. We are not calling her something ridiculous like Peaches or Tallulah or Mittens."

"Go look up the Wikipedia page for ancient Slavic deities, then. Sure we'll find at least one or two names in the list that could work," she said. She stood up to kick off her shoes and unzip her coat. "And put the kettle on for me, will you? The day I just had, I could _murder_ someone for a cup of tea."

"Wouldn't you rather have a nice glass of wine instead? There is a bottle of your favourite Pinot Gris in the fridge."

"Earl Grey first, _then_ the wine."

*************************

Two hours later, they still hadn't agreed on a name.

"I like Morana," Kirill said for what felt like the twentieth time. "It is not Russian, but it _is_ Slavic, and very pretty."

"But it's still the name of a god of death," Catherine complained. "So not really much better than Chernobyl."

"Chernobog," Kirill corrected. "But Morana was a goddess instead of a god, so at least it is a feminine name. Plus, she was also the goddess of rebirth and nature. There was more to her than just darkness and death."

" _I_ think we should call her Toothless."

"Absolutely not. I don't care what animated movie character she reminds you of, that is an utterly ridiculous name. If only because she has not lost any of her teeth." At least, not that he'd so far been able to see.

The subject of their negotiations was sleeping soundly on the recliner, chasing dragonflies in her dreams, blissfully unaware of the relationship issues her presence was causing.

Catherine sighed and leaned out to grab the bottle of wine. She refilled her own empty glass, then turned to pour what was left into his. "I'm all out of decent suggestions, and it's hardly worth falling out about, so I guess we're calling her Morana."

Finally. "Yes, we are."

"But just so you know, if we ever have kids, you are absolutely _not_ picking the names."

Kirill winced. Now _there_ was a topic he didn't want to discuss. "Let us burn that bridge if and when we ever come to it."

Catherine smiled. She was used to his verbal errors by now. "Don't you mean _cross_ that bridge?"

"Thank you, yes," he easily lied. Except, this time, he knew he hadn't gotten it wrong—he'd said _exactly_ what he'd intended to say. He was happy to be a brother, uncle, lover and friend, and yes, perhaps even a husband as well, for the right woman and under the right circumstances, but fatherhood wasn't in his plans.

"Doesn't matter what kind of name you give her, she's still gonna meow with an American accent," Catherine added, no doubt sensing they'd wandered onto dangerous ground.

"Animals don't have accents."

Catherine nodded as she sipped on her wine. "Hmm, but according to an article I read in a magazine last week, they do. Was about European and North American wolves, and the different sounds they make when they howl, but the people who carried out the study are looking at dogs and cats as well."

Kirill shrugged. "No matter. I am quite sure that once Morana has lived with me for a couple of months, she will learn to meow with a good, Russian accent instead."

"Wonder if Boomer barks with a Spanish accent?"

"Why would he do that?"

"William adopted him down in Belize, and Belize is in Central America, and they mostly speak Spanish there, don't they?"

"They do, but in Belize, the official language is actually English."

Catherine frowned. "Really?"

"The country used to be known as British Honduras. It is part of the British Commonwealth, and the Queen of England is the Head of State."

"So he barks with a British accent instead?"

"He probably sounds like the canine version of Prince Charles."

"That would explain the drooling and farting. And also the massive ears."

"It definitely explains why he keeps breaking into the neighbour's yard."

"How's that?"

"He is giving in to his natural urge to invade and conquer the small, defenseless country next door."

Catherine snickered. "The Democratic Republic of Boomerania." She furrowed her perfectly-manicured brows. "Or maybe he wants his own Kingdom instead."

"Don't we all?" Kirill replied.

On the recliner, Morana whiffled, stretched and came back to life. She licked her lips and blessed them with a regal glare.

"Somebody heard us talking about kingdoms," Catherine whispered.

"She probably wants us to thrash all the servants and polish her crown."

In a faux-British accent, his other half theatrically said, "One is _not_ amused."

Kirill grinned. "Speaking of people not being amused, I can't imagine Michelle was very pleased when William told her he was bringing a dog home from Belize City with him. Especially as he was only there for a month."

"Don't think it really bothered her much, except for the vet and quarantine fees." She shot him a mock-angry glare. "And at least he told his other half in advance, instead of after the dirty deed was done."

"He did, yes," Kirill agreed. "But he and Michelle were already married and living together. We are not."

She took another sip of her wine, then keeping her eyes firmly fixed on the coffee table, very placidly asked, "You think that's something you'll ever want to change?"

Kirill's blood almost froze in his veins. He liked this Catherine McNally more than he sometimes cared to admit, and the two of them were good together (especially between the sheets), but he'd only been in the States for a year, so he wasn't sure he was ready for a Serious Relationship yet.

"I take it from the look of absolute terror that just appeared on your face that your answer's gonna be 'no'?" she said.

He took a lengthy sip of his own. "I am not saying that my answer is 'no', but you are the first proper girlfriend I have had for a very long time, and we have only been dating for six months. Plus, I still don't feel completely settled in the United States. I would rather not think about my future too much until I am slightly more sure of what that future is going to be."

She sighed, nodded slightly and smiled. "Honest, forthright and to the point. Can't really ask for more than that."

It occurred to him that she actually could, but he wasn't about to say that out loud. "Ask me again at the end of September. My lease will be coming up for renewal, and by then, we will have been together for almost a year."

As good a time as any to pause and consider where they wanted their liaison to go.

"And by then, you'll also have six months as a kitty parent under your belt," Catherine pointed out. She gestured at the diminutive cat, who was now purring and kneading the chair with her claws. "You figure out how to deal with Her Gracious Majesty over there, living with me'll be a piece of cake."

"I _did_ once tell an old Army friend that I wanted to spend the rest of my life surrounded by beautiful, biddable women."

She narrowed her eyes. "As long as one of those beautiful, biddable women isn't that redheaded waitress from the bar."

His lips twitched as he sipped on his wine. He _had_ to say it, even though it might earn him a lonely night on the couch with only Morana to keep him warm.

"The redhead, no, but what about the brunette or the blonde?"


End file.
